Stavanger Bay you don't own me

The male spoke that sirens had no need for a pirate's song. For a moment she struggled internally with his use of the word “pretty”. Sirens were fabled to be the most beautiful, it was true, that was all apart of their allure coupled with their songs but she was unsure if he meant in general or if he was calling her pretty. For a moment, it was enough to distract her but quickly she brushed it off, refocusing her attention upon the strange sailor she'd stumbled across with a demure shrug of her shoulders. “Do you think siren's swim around singing “Jolly Sailor Bold” all the time, huh? Maybe we want a mix track.” Stitch giggled at the absurdity of it. More than likely Sirens probably stuck to one song that had some sort of magical property to it. She really didn't know, she realized! She had spent her whole life on the coast torn between the Kesuk's worship of Atka and Sos and her father's scoff at anything magic and religious. Eager as Stitch had been to be Nevermore's favorite she had always held a deep fascination for mythology and magic.

“I know,” Stitch shrugged. “It's a long song.” She grinned with an easy smile. Perhaps he had managed to trap her, so to speak, but of course she wasn't really a siren. She was distinctly lacking a fish tail and was fairly certain that she couldn't breathe under water. “For a bit.” Stitch allowed coyly, with a demure rise and fall of her slender shoulders. “They call me Stitch; what do they call you?” She asked realizing that neither of them had exchanged the customary pleasantries yet.